


A Pattering of Praise

by abstractconcept



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, Oral Sex, snarry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-22
Updated: 2006-10-22
Packaged: 2018-11-08 05:44:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11075253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abstractconcept/pseuds/abstractconcept
Summary: Since Snape rarely gives, Harry learns to hoard what little he can get.





	A Pattering of Praise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Inkgeist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inkgeist/gifts).



> NOTES/WARNINGS: For Inkgeist. I’m told it’s not as dirty as I thought, but it’s heavier. One of my few serious ficlets. THERE, Dartmouthtongue. I managed to do a whole five. Now if you’ll all excuse me, I’ll slink off to bed to read Jeeves and Wooster for the remainder of the weekend. 
> 
> BETAS: Alliekatgal, Xingou, and Scotrid, my tie-breaker and final say, and also the one who said, “Don’t beat them over the head with the irony.” *g* So if you don’t get the irony, blame him; he apparently respects your intelligence. And all other mistakes are mine.

Blood pattered on the floor like raindrops, and Harry swayed, dizzy, defeated. He staggered, fell to his knees.

“Don’t you dare, Potter,” a voice growled in his ear as an arm slipped around his waist, jerking him back to his feet. “Finish your job, boy. Then you may die if you like.”

Harry let the man support him, steer him down the corridor, where a cold, mad, laughing destiny awaited him, and he embraced it with two rasping words and a flare of green from the tip of his wand. He stopped the laughter, turned it to horrible, beautiful silence.

Then he collapsed back into the arms of his supporter, ready to succumb to that cold, mad laughter himself, but Snape shook him, told him to shut up, grabbed him by the hair and screamed it in his face until he obeyed.

He blinked up at Snape, falling silent and acquiescent.

“Good boy,” the man grunted.

Less praise than his deed deserved, but Harry would take what he could get. He burrowed himself in Snape’s robes, sought to steal what little warmth the man could give. To his surprise, Snape allowed this, stroking Harry’s head absent-mindedly, staring at the carnage before him, muttering, ‘Good boy,’ in meaningless litany. It wasn’t praise at all anymore, but it was gentler than Harry had expected. He’d managed to steal a bit of Snape’s warmth after all, and tucked it away in his heart for later use.

**OoOoOoOoO**

Harry crawled into the bed, the stale scent of their last coupling still sour in the air. He was shaking again. He was shaking, and he needed to stop, and Snape was the only one who could be firm with him, who could force him to stop.

Snape pulled the covers back to allow Harry in to that dark, damning cavern. He dragged Harry down and trapped him in a tight embrace, like a frantic bird whose wings needed to be pinned before he could be helped.

They lay like that for a long time. Harry could feel Snape moulded against his back. He was unable to move, save to whimper or scream, neither of which he did. Harry let Snape restrain him, suffocate him, absorb him. He let his heartbeat become Snape’s heartbeat, his breath become Snape’s breath, his panic become Snape’s placid silence.

When the quivers ended and Harry’s breath had evened out, Snape released him, sitting up and swinging his feet off the bed. Harry stopped him by briefly touching his shoulder.

Payment. He wormed out of the bed to kneel at Snape’s feet, pushed up the man’s nightshirt, reached out to caress Snape’s cock, handling it, fondling it to hardness. Perhaps Harry didn’t owe him this, not really. He’d paid his dues a long time ago.

But so had Snape, and since Snape still found more to give, so too would Harry.

Harry gave lavishly, with his tongue and his lips and the sliding of his fingertips, with encouraging little noises as Snape’s hips began to pump. Snape’s fingers dug into Harry’s hair, trailed down his face as if remarking wordlessly on the exquisiteness of Harry’s expression, dark brows drawn in concentration.

Snape was always so quiet in bed that his gasp startled Harry; it was like a gunshot, so abrupt and fleeting, and Harry sat back on his heels, marvelling at the consonance; using his mouth to send such a beautiful sound out of someone else’s.

Come pattered down on Harry’s cheeks like raindrops.

“Good boy,” the man grunted.

Less praise than his deed deserved, but Harry would take what he could get. Snape reached out and brushed the corner of Harry’s lip before turning away. It wasn’t praise, just a momentary gesture, but it was gentler than Harry had expected. He’d managed to steal another bit of Snape’s warmth, and he tucked it away in his heart with the few others he had collected.


End file.
